They say that if walls could talk each building would have a story to tell,

but few would tell so many fascinating stories in so many different voices

as the Hagia Sophia, or holy wisdom.

Perched at the crossroads of continents and cultures,

it has seen massive changes from the name of the city where it stands,

to its own structure and purpose.

And today, the elements from each era stand

ready to tell their tales to any visitor who will listen.

Even before you arrive at the Hagia Sophia, the ancient fortifications

hint at the strategic importance of the surrounding city,

founded as Byzantium by Greek colonists in 657 BCE.

And successfully renamed as Augusta Antonia, New Rome and Constantinople

as it was conquered, reconquered, destroyed and rebuilt

by various Greek, Persian and Roman rulers over the following centuries.

And it was within these walls that the first Megale Ekklesia, or great church,

was built in the fourth century.

Though it was soon burned to the ground in riots,

it established the location for the region's main religious structure

for centuries to come.

Near the entrance, the marble stones with reliefs

are the last reminders of the second church.

Built in 415 CE, it was destroyed during the Nika Riots of 532

when angry crowds at a chariot race

nearly overthrew the emperor, Justinian the First.

Having barely managed to retain power,

he resolved to rebuild the church on a grander scale,

and five years later, the edifice you see before you was completed.

As you step inside, the stones of the foundation and walls

murmur tales from their homelands of Egypt and Syria,

while columns taken from the Temple of Artemis recall a more ancient past.

Runic inscriptions carved by the vikings of the emperor's elite guard

carry the lore of distant northern lands.

But your attention is caught by the grand dome, representing the heavens.

Reaching over 50 meters high and over 30 meters in diameter

and ringed by windows around its base,

the golden dome appears suspended from heaven,

light reflecting through its interior.

Beneath its grandiose symbolism, the sturdy reinforcing Corinthian columns,

brought from Lebanon after the original dome was partially destroyed

by an earthquake in 558 CE,

quietly remind you of its fragility

and the engineering skills such a marvel requires.

If a picture is worth a thousand words,

the mosaics from the next several centuries have the most to say

not only about their Biblical themes,

but also the Byzantine emperors who commissioned them,

often depicted along with Christ.

But beneath their loud and clear voices,

one hears the haunting echoes of the damaged and missing mosaics and icons,

desecrated and looted during the Latin Occupation in the Fourth Crusade.

Within the floor, the tomb inscription of Enrico Dandolo,

the Venetian ruler who commanded the campaign,

is a stark reminder of those 57 years that Hagia Sophia spent as a Roman Catholic church

before returning to its orthodox roots upon the Byzantine Reconquest.

But it would not remain a church for long.

Weakened by the Crusades, Constantinople fell to the Ottomans in 1453

and would be known as Istanbul thereafter.

After allowing his soldiers three days of pillage,

Sultan Mehmed the Second entered the building.

Though heavily damaged, its grandeur was not lost

on the young sultan who immediately rededicated it to Allah,

proclaiming that it would be the new imperial mosque.

The four minarets built over the next century

are the most obvious sign of this era,

serving as architectural supports in addition to their religious purpose.

But there are many others.

Ornate candle holders relate Suleiman's conquest of Hungary,

while giant caligraphy discs hung from the ceiling

remind visitors for the first four caliphs who followed Muhammad.

Though the building you see today still looks like a mosque, it is now a museum,

a decision made in 1935 by Kemal Ataturk,

the modernizing first president of Turkey

following the Ottoman Empire's collapse.

It was this secularization that allowed for removal

of the carpets hiding the marble floor decorations

and the plaster covering the Christian mosaics.

Ongoing restoration work has allowed the multiplicity of voices

in Hagia Sophia's long history

to be heard again after centuries of silence.

But conflict remains.

Hidden mosaics cry out from beneath Islamic calligraphy,

valuable pieces of history that cannot be uncovered without destroying others.

Meanwhile, calls sound from both Muslim and Christian communities

to return the building to its former religious purposes.

The story of the divine wisdom may be far from over,

but one can only hope that the many voices residing there

will be able to tell their part for years to come.